April appreciated having such an unambiguous statement on the record.
Honestly, though, Leila would have figured it out anyway, along with everyone else who streamed the video or read the session transcript later. Especially once April surged to her feet and yanked Marcus close and used her hands in that soft, soft hair to pull him down to her.
The kiss was long. It was loving. It was fervent. It involved more tongue than was appropriate for an event advertised as family-friendly.
And for Gods of the Gates fans, it was a kiss that launched a thousand new fics.
Rating: Mature
Fandoms: Gods of the Gates – E. Wade, Gods of the Gates (TV)
Relationships: Cupid/Psyche, Cupid & Venus, Psyche & Venus
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern, Celebrity!Cupid, Fan!Psyche, Come On You Know It Had to Happen, April Whittier Is Living the Dream, The Peg That Was Promised
Stats: Words: 925 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 22 Kudos: 104 Bookmarks: 7
One Kiss to Legendary
SoftestBoiCupid
Summary:
Psyche still doesn’t believe Cupid will put her first, now and always. But when his mother attempts to come between the couple at a fan convention, he’ll show Psyche the true depths of his devotion—and his passion. In public, and in private.
Notes:
If you weren’t at Con of the Gates, you should have been. The YouTube video doesn’t do the kiss justice. Like, AT ALL. All hail April Whittier, rightful queen of the Gates stans!
* * *
As the session moderator, Psyche wasn’t meant to be answering questions herself. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. Who would want to talk with her, a boring geologist, when Cupid, the single hottest man on the planet, was sitting beside her?
And yet.
When she looked up, she spotted the next audience member with a question, and to her abject horror, it was Venus. Gorgeous and perfect and vengeful—and Cupid’s mother, her strangling love enough to have prodded him into his most heinous acts.
“Look at you,” the goddess made flesh sneered. “No son of mine would desire such a woman. He’s a star. You’re a mere fan. Your so-called relationship is a publicity stunt. Admit it now, Psyche. Before the world, so everyone can know you for the liar you are.”
Tears pricked her eyes. But before they could fall, warm, gentle thumbs had brushed them aside.
“Let them know you for the woman you are,” he corrected, and the microphone carried his words to the entire hall, loud and clear. “Let them know you for the woman I love.”
Then he gathered Psyche into his sheltering arms, heedless of his mother’s screech of dismay, and kissed her and kissed her until she could have sworn he’d grown wings and carried them both to the heavens.
That night, for the first time, she pegged him.
Epilogue
“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT WAS IAN ALL ALONG.” APRIL FROWNED at Marcus from above the screen of her laptop. “Was he sharing scripts with his wife, or . . . ?”
Marcus stretched out on her couch, hands behind his head, and reveled in the moment. Her, working happily on her latest one-shot fic at the kitchen table. Him, between projects and luxuriating in the time to read and write his own stories, catch up with their Lavineas friends as BAWN, and generally drag April to bed whenever possible.
They’d been together almost two years now. Engaged for almost a year.
Last month, they’d put his LA house up for sale and begun looking to buy a home in the San Francisco area instead, something large enough and within easy commuting distance of April’s work. The real estate agent had been instructed to avoid anything too close to his parents, although he and April dutifully visited his childhood home every few months and spent awkward afternoons with his mom and dad.
Awkward, but no longer especially painful. Not after the letter he’d sent, and not after his parents found themselves the focus of April’s cool, narrow-eyed scrutiny and pointed defense of him at every conceivable opportunity.
Frankly, he got the sense they were terrified of his fiancée. Which, given her opinion of them, wasn’t necessarily inappropriate.
“Nope. Not Ian’s wife.” Oh, this was the best part. He couldn’t wait to see her face. “He was sharing scripts with his personal tuna purveyor in exchange for a discount.”
Slowly, she closed her laptop screen, staring at him.
“He . . .” Her head tilted, her coppery hair falling over her shoulder. “You’re telling me Ian violated his contract in exchange for lower seafood prices? Did I understand that correctly?”
“Yup.” He popped the closing consonant for emphasis.
“Wow. Wooooow.” Sliding her glasses off her nose, she blinked at him. “The show’s been over for months. Why is this coming out now?”
“Ian’s playing someone less fit in his new show, so he stopped training as hard. Less need for training, less need for protein. Less need for protein, less—”
“—need for tuna.” She tapped the arm of her glasses against the table. “Huh. Ian got ratted out by a newly impoverished, vengeful tuna salesman. I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming.”
He grinned. “I don’t think Carah has stopped cackling since we found out this morning.”
Fishy motherfucker, she’d written in the cast chat. Literally and figuratively. HahahahaHAHAHA.
He and his Gates colleagues had remained friends, some closer than others. All of them, however, closer to him than he’d have expected two years ago, possibly because now they actually knew him. Every few days, someone would post an update, and they’d talk about their new movies and shows, or their families, or possible group get-togethers.
They had, however, kicked Ian out of the group chat that morning, because really? A tuna purveyor?
“Oh, and Summer says hi, by the way.” Idly, he scratched his chest hair. “She wants to have dinner with you the next time we’re in LA.”
Since that first convention together, his former on-screen wife and his real-life fiancée had become good friends, in part because they’d had so many opportunities to spend time in each other’s company. At awards shows and cons. During visits to LA. Also for a few weeks last spring, as he and Summer filmed in San Francisco.
Much to his parents’ bewilderment and April’s amusement, his initial post-Gates project had involved playing a very familiar character: Aeneas. Specifically, Aeneas from Virgil’s Aeneid, rather than Wade’s version or—he suppressed a shudder—Ron and R.J.’s iteration.
For the first time, he’d helped produce his own film. A two-hour movie for a big-budget streaming service willing to invest in somewhat quirky projects, as long as big-name stars were attached. Stars such as, for instance, Marcus and Carah and Summer.
His fans had stuck with him after he’d discarded his public persona, so he’d had his choice of other quality roles. But moving behind the camera was his way of ensuring greater say in the script and his characters and coworkers. It was also a challenge and a set of new skills to master. And much to his satisfaction, he’d been able to coordinate shooting a few key scenes in San Francisco, as close as possible to the woman he loved.